


Tryst

by yeaka



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kíli pesters Dwalin, too impatient to hide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tryst

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Ficlet for anon’s “Kili knows that his Uncle would disapprove of his relationship with Dwalin. He just doesn't care.” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24393333#t24393333).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Balin’s gone on watch duty, Ori’s making dinner, Dwalin’s off in search of decent firewood, the rest of them are supposed to be resting, and Kíli’s off for trouble. 

He says he’s going to take a leak, and they wave him away, though Thorin’s eyes have a glint to them that Kíli could _swear_ is suspicion. He tells himself he doesn’t care, though he can’t help but fear the consequences, and he picks himself through the woodlands. There’s something vaguely unsettling about walking on soft earth instead of stone, weaving through the uneven sprinklings of roots and plants, but at least the trees give him some semblance of privacy. He only has to walk a few meters before the camp’s completely out of sight, swallowed in the underbrush and falling shadows. 

He finds Dwalin easily enough, because he could recognize that familiar scent a kilometer off, and it draws him in like a fresh dessert. Around a large boulder, Dwalin’s collecting logs, each thicker than his arms and maybe Kíli’s whole body. Kíli gets the same spike of attraction he always does from seeing Dwalin’s brute strength in action, greater than any other dwarf Kíli’s ever known. Dwalin’s thick muscles ripple with each lift, veins straining against the peach skin, calloused knuckles turning white at the ends. Kíli lingers half a second to stare, then hurries forward. His excuse won’t hold up forever. 

He tries to dart up to peck Dwalin’s cheek, but Dwalin jerks away, dropping all his logs at their feet and muttering, “Kíli!” Kíli ignores it and swivels to keep up, chasing Dwalin’s face. Dwalin thrusts out an arm to push Kíli away, too sturdy for Kíli to fight. “Down boy.”

Kíli, pouting in irritation, hisses, “They can’t see!”

“And if they do?” Dwalin mutters, hand spread on Kíli’s chest to hold him at bay. “What if Thorin comes to check on you?”

Kíli insists, “I don’t _care_.” And he means it. He had the same argument with himself the day he first fell for Dwalin, and again when they started on this journey. It doesn’t seem possible to hide it forever, not when they’re always together like this, when there’s never any real shelter or privacy. All Kíli knows for sure is that Erebor’s a long way away, and he can’t go this entire journey without even being kissed. Not when he sees Dwalin’s handsome face every day, has so many valued conversations, lies right next to him at night and watches him in the throes of valiant battles. Kíli’s nowhere near that patient, and he grabs Dwalin’s elbow, bending his head to press his lips to Dwalin’s bare skin. He kisses Dwalin’s forearm with deliberate sensuality, lingering and flicking his tongue and trying to prove that this is a _very good idea_. 

Dwalin growls warningly, “Kíli.” But Kíli doesn’t stop, so Dwalin yanks his arm away, leaving Kíli to stumble forward. Staring him sternly in the eye, Dwalin insists, “Your uncle has enough on his plate without finding out his cute little prince is getting plowed by a lowly warrior twice his size.” As usual, Kíli’s nose wrinkles at being called ‘little,’ but being called ‘cute’ has its perks, and the prince title makes him want to order Dwalin to shut up and fuck him. 

Instead, he fumes, “I’m not Thorin’s _property._ I’m more than old enough to make my own decisions, whatever the rest of you might think, and I don’t care if my uncle approves or not! We can’t hide forever, Dwalin. We could very well die on this journey, and I don’t want to go the rest of my endangered life without so much as a hug from the dwarf I _love_.” He can see where Dwalin’s resolve cracks. They don’t profess their feelings often, and Kíli makes it worse by stepping right up to Dwalin’s large body, leaning into it and hissing against the scruff of Dwalin’s beard, “I _want_ you, and I know you want me, so there shouldn’t be anything stopping you.” 

Dwalin grumbles, “You’re so insolent.” It’s fierce, but more with fire than anger, and Kíli thinks he’s winning. He flattens himself against Dwalin’s broad chest, his hands landing on Dwalin’s hips, digging in through the coarse layers of fabric. The mail pleated into Dwalin’s shirt is almost painful, but they both know Kíli likes it rough, and he treads the danger line by brushing his palm across Dwalin’s crotch while his tongue traces his lips. 

“You’ve been staring at me this whole journey,” Kíli purrs, practically moaning, his own hips pressing tightly into Dwalin’s. “I’ve felt your eyes on my backside more than once, and the way you brush against me whenever you can is hardly subtle. And then there’s the way you stare at me during meals, like you’d devour me right there if you could, shove me to your feet and put my mouth to better use...”

Dwalin hisses something not unlike a battle cry, and the next thing Kíli knows, he’s being spun and slammed against the boulder, so hard that the air’s knocked out of him. He splutters, biceps pinned tightly to the smooth stone, while Dwalin smashes into him, presses their bodies back together, completely blanketing him. If another dwarf were to walk by, they wouldn’t even see Kíli, he’s so utterly consumed. He’s gasping for breath when Dwalin’s mouth latches onto his, blunt teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to bruise. Kíli whimpers and jerks his arms out of Dwalin’s grasp, needing to hold on. He’s no sooner thrown them around Dwalin’s shoulders when Dwalin pulls back, hissing, “Don’t you _dare_ scream. If you’re too loud, we stop.”

Kíli, ever vocal, nods anyway.

Dwalin mutters, “Wipe that smug look of your face. I’m not stupid enough to fuck you barely a few meters from Thorin’s camp. I’m just going to teach you a lesson.” Kíli’s grin does drop, but not entirely. He wants to be _fucked_ , _desperately_ , but he’s not averse to being punished. He wriggles his hips to prove his naughtiness, his need for discipline. Dwalin’s face vacillates between irritated and affectionate; if they were back home, this would all be a game. 

But they’re not, and Dwalin wastes no time shoving his fingers into Kíli’s mouth. So many go at once that Kíli nearly chokes, gagging against the thick digits that try to squeeze down his throat, stretching his lips wide open. He tries to relax his jaw, but it’s no use; Dwalin’s giant hands are bigger than his cock, impossible to fit in Kíli’s little mouth. He gets three fingers and one half poking in, stroking his tongue, and when they pull back out he splutters for air, spit dribbling down the corner of his mouth. He tries to bring his hand to wipe himself off, but Dwalin grabs his wrist and slams it hard against the rock. Kíli hisses in pain, but offers his other one up all the same. He lifts both arms above his head, holding them together to let Dwalin capture both wrists in one firm grip, pinning him in place. It should scare him, being so easily dominated, but instead it just makes him more aroused. Dwalin’s raw power is one of many things that draws him to the older dwarf, and he strains to try and get a kiss, even though Dwalin leans away. 

Dwalin snaps, “Down,” and Kíli listens. Then Dwalin explains, while his wet hand trails down Kíli’s body, “If Thorin should catch us, we are _not_ making love. I’m pleasuring my prince, the way he asked.” Dwalin’s voice lowers as he hisses the rest: “And if that pleasure is dirty and degrading, it’s none of my business.”

Kíli, of course, would never say that to Thorin, and Dwalin wouldn’t want him to, but the game still makes Kíli hot, makes him groan and thrust his hips forward. He _is_ dirty, he knows, so wanton around his Dwalin, but he can’t _help_ it and wouldn’t change a thing. After all, it got him this. Then Dwalin’s fingertips are slipping below his tunic, shoving into his trousers, and Kíli arches into it, mewling his delight. Dwalin’s skin is always a little rough, marred with old battle scars and the cuts of hard labour, and the texture alone makes Kíli shiver, squirming against Dwalin’s hand. It sweeps down the curve of his ass, one wet finger sticking between his round cheeks, the rest squeezing on their way down. Kíli shamelessly thrusts back into it, half expecting to be scolded. 

Instead, he’s kissed, and a moment later, he knows why. Dwalin’s talented fingers rub at his hole, tracing his puckered brim, and Kíli moans filthily into Dwalin’s mouth. Dwalin swallows it and kisses all the noises away, devouring Kíli’s lips while Kíli’s asshole is teased open, gently prodded at and circled and poked, until its flexing apart, and Kíli tries to open himself as much as he can. Even if it’s just for Dwalin’s fingers, Kíli _loves_ those, and he thrusts himself back against them, wanting more. 

When the first blunt tip pushes in, he thinks he’ll go mad. He hisses wildly into Dwalin’s mouth, the burn a sudden burst of pain and _exquisite_ pleasure—he hasn’t had anything inside him for _months_ , and that’s far too long. He used to ride Dwalin’s cock every chance he could, and touch himself on the rare nights between, but during the journey, he’s had no chance. The sensation of being filled again is a wondrous thing, even if his unused hole whines at the intrusion. Dwalin pushes in and out all the same, coaxing it wider. Finally, when Kíli’s tapered out of cries and into sobs, Dwalin lets his mouth go, hooks over his shoulder and murmurs in his ear, “Naughty boys don’t deserve to get fucked.” A delicious shiver runs down Kíli’s body, and his hands strain against Dwalin’s grasp, wanting to clutch to Dwalin’s shoulders and pull him tighter in. “But if my little Kíli needs it so bad, I suppose it’s my responsibility as your dutiful mate to milk you dry.” Kíli’s head tilts back against the rock, throat pouring out moan after moan. This is _exactly_ what he wanted. 

Dwalin’s finger seems to take forever to get knuckle deep in Kíli’s body, but once it does, it’s _perfect_ , and Kíli clenches, trying to hold it in. It pulls out a second later, only to be joined by another finger, the two trying to pry him open, and Kíli stretches himself wide, tears nearly beading at the corner of his eyes under the strain. Dwalin kisses his forehead and tells him, “ _Good boy_.” That makes it worth it. He gets both fingers inside, slicked only with spit, and it’s not enough, but it’s still _good_. Kíli’s tough enough to take it raw. He’s heard stories of fairer creatures tearing, but he’s a dwarf, however small, and his ass sucks at Dwalin’s fingers with a greedy hunger, regardless of the pain. He relishes in the burn. He gets stabbed into and speared apart, until a third finger is poking in. 

Dwalin’s fingers are so _huge_. They’re massive, filling him so full that he feels dizzy. He’s beaded in sweat, panting hard against the stone. Dwalin kisses him again, never fierce enough to bruise; they can’t leave marks, out here with nothing to cover them up and no new clothes to hide them. So Kíli’s mouth is attacked instead, right up until all three fingers are diving in and out of him. 

They curl suddenly, stabbing at just the right angle, and Kíli thrums forward against Dwalin’s body, screaming into Dwalin’s mouth, instantly alight with pleasure. Dwalin does it again, strokes that one special spot; Kíli comes alive. He thrusts wildly forward, trying to both grind against the hard bulge of Dwalin’s crotch and rub back onto the girth of Dwalin’s fingers. Kíli’s nearly convulsing in delight, body played to its peak. Dwalin always knows just how to touch him. Dwalin stabs into that same spot over and over again, while Kíli cries and bucks and writhes and loses himself in pleasure, thinking only of bliss and Dwalin.

Then it’s too much, all at once, and he tenses, shuddering in a massive wave of ecstasy, before his mind goes white and he spills right into his trousers while humping Dwalin’s hand like a dog. Dwalin strokes him through it, giving him burst after burst of pleasure. He thinks he’ll pass out with it, but when the tornado’s gone, he’s left whole and standing. 

Dwalin lets go of his wrists, and Kíli nearly collapses. Dwalin catches him, pinning him back against the stone, body stiflingly hot. Kíli’s too lightheaded to do anything but nuzzle into Dwalin’s beard and struggle for air, while Dwalin’s fingers withdraw and come to pet his back instead. 

What feels like a week later but is probably a few minutes, Kíli mumbles, “I love you.” It comes out garbled, but he’s sure Dwalin understands. 

Dwalin sighs. He’s heavy with it. He lifts his strong arms for a soothing hug that Kíli never wants to let go of. “Love you, too.” When he does pull away, he holds onto Kíli’s smaller shoulders, and he says, all heart, “Don’t make the mistake that I don’t want you. _Of course_ I do, and when this is all over, we’ll be together properly. Maybe we’ll even tell Thorin and get married someday. But for now, we’ve got a job to do, and you have to be good.” He leaves off ‘and stop tempting me,’ but Kíli can hear it in the air. 

Kíli nods. He _knows_. He just doesn’t like it, and it’s hard. 

Another kiss on the forehead, and Dwalin pushes him towards the camp, grunting, “Go tell them you ran into a bear or something. I’ll be right back with the firewood.”

Kíli nods and trudges off, satiated but sad, and hoping they can find someway to shove their sleeping bags next to one another, even if only for a little whil


End file.
